A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [53]
“A good one?” Harrison asked.
“Good as in entertaining?”
“No. Good as in, you loved him, and he loved you back, and you both lived happily ever after.”
“I’m not sure I know that one,” Nora said lightly.
Nora peered over Harrison’s shoulder, and he turned. In the doorway, in a gray suit, her hair exceptionally thick and light brown, stood Bridget Kennedy—shy, pained, and now, at the sight of Nora, smiling in Harrison’s direction.
Bridget, standing in the doorway to the library, saw it in their eyes. Alarm. Dismay. Pity. Curiosity. A man (Jerry Leyden?) began to sing “Here Comes the Bride.” In an instant, Bill was at her side, taking her arm. The wedding, this reunion, was a terrible idea, a fiasco. These people were all strangers. Strangers. What on earth had she been thinking?
Nora embraced her, and Bridget was sure that her old schoolmate could feel the suit of armor beneath the gray wool. The chemo gave Bridget no-warning hot flashes that advertised themselves in a sweaty brow and flushed red cheeks, one of which she was having now.
“You look beautiful,” Nora said, not for the group but just for Bridget. She pried Bridget from Bill’s arm and walked with her to the drinks table. “We’ll be eating soon,” Nora said, “but there’s time for a drink. We have sparkling water, too.”
“I’ll have the water,” Bridget said, suddenly thirsty and not at all certain what a glass of wine might do to her.
“I was a little worried about you,” Nora said.
“I got dressed, then didn’t like what I was wearing, got dressed again . . .”
“Doesn’t everyone? Your room is okay?”
“It’s wonderful. Thank you so much.”
Nora waved the thanks away. “Matt and Brian have healthy appetites,” she said.
“They haven’t eaten all the hors d’oeuvres, have they? I meant to tell them not to.”
Nora smiled. “We have plenty.”
Matt, who had moved away from the table, patted his mother awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
Matt’s hair was combed, his face freshly scrubbed, and the sight of him in his suit sent unwanted and instant tears to her eyes. She gave her son a quick hug to disguise the moment. “You didn’t eat everything,” Bridget said in what she hoped was a slightly scolding voice.
Matt shrugged.
Bridget looked over at Brian and smiled. “I hope this won’t be boring for you,” she said to the boy.
“No, I’m good,” he said.
At the drinks table, Nora ordered a sparkling water for Bridget. “I’m keeping the dinner short,” Nora said. “We’ll have a first course, then the entrée, and then I’m going to make everybody get up and move back into the library for coffee and dessert. At that point, it’ll be easy for you to disappear to your room if you feel you’ve had enough.”
“Thank you,” Bridget said. “You’ve —”
“I’ve put you between Bill and Matt,” Nora said quickly. “But I can change that if you want to sit next to someone else.”
“No,” Bridget said, slightly bewildered by all the decisions that had happily been made for her. “No, that sounds fine.”
“And now I think I’m going to have to share you with the others. The florist called by the way and said no problem with the anemones.”
When Bill and Bridget had arrived at the inn, Nora had met Bridget in the lobby, and the two of them had sat over a cup of tea in the library talking about the wedding, each determined to keep it simple. Nora, Bridget had discovered, had with Bill’s help seen to all the details—the music, the flowers, the photographer, the meal—and gradually Bridget had felt a weight lift from her shoulders. (A wedding, Bridget had thought more than once over the past several weeks, was a small playlet, one with scenery, an audience, and actors playing their parts.) Nora, who seemed to have developed extrasensory empathy, had noted the exact moment Bridget had felt the need to lie down. “You take a rest,” Nora had said. “Do you mind room service?”
Bridget, who had seldom had an opportunity to sample room service, simply smiled.
“I’ll send up a selection of sandwiches for all of you,” Nora said, rising.
Bridget had been delighted with her room. It was clearly